


Pas de Deux

by siriusblue



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mycroft Plays the Piano, Slow Dancing, Teen Mycroft Holmes/Teen Greg Lestrade, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 17:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14407392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusblue/pseuds/siriusblue
Summary: Mycroft Holmes is coerced into playing piano at a ballet class for a friend of his mother's. There's a young man named Greg Lestrade in the class getting ready to audition for the National Ballet. Cue shy glances and a considerable amount of blushing.





	Pas de Deux

PAS DE DEUX

 

It started with a photograph. Then a bunch of ballet!strade headcanons by the peerless @green-violin-bow. Then this happened…

  
  
  


“Must I?”

 

Mycroft Holmes wasn't used to questioning his mother but what she had just proposed sounded like his idea of hell. However she stood there with her hands on her hips and a determined look in her eye and Mycroft's brief flash of rebellion died in an unfamiliar hearth.

 

“I promised Cressida.” said Violet Holmes flatly. “It's only for a week while Mrs Redfern is on holiday. Honestly, Mikey. It's not as if you've got anything else to do with your evenings.”

 

Mycroft sighed. Cressida was his mother's best friend and it would be churlish to refuse, even if all he had to look forward to was playing Tchaikovsky for a troop of pubescents who had all the grace of drunken rhinos.

 

Who in their right mind wanted to learn ballet anyway?

 

“Very well,” he huffed.

 

“Tonight. Seven o'clock. Don't be late.”

  
  


Mycroft was punctual. He arrived at Cressida’s dance studio in plenty of time and walked over to the piano. He lifted the lid and ran his fingers over the keys. Blessed with perfect pitch he could tell it had recently been tuned and grunted with satisfaction.

 

“Oh, there you are, Mikey!” exclaimed Cressida Underwood, emerging from another room. Mycroft cringed at the childhood nickname. “So good of you to help us out.”

 

Mycroft mumbled something unintelligible. He found all the mirrors disturbing, showing as they did a tall, slightly pudgy teenager with red hair and freckles. He hated seeing his reflection.

 

“There's only one class tonight,” Cressida burbled on, oblivious to his discomfort. “I did wonder if you would consider staying a little longer. One of my star pupils is auditioning for the National Ballet school and I'm giving him extra tuition.

 

“That should be fine,” replied Mycroft politely.

 

Hearing a lot of high-pitched feminine giggling from behind the changing room made him retreat swiftly behind the piano.

 

Girls en masse terrified him. Girls full stop terrified him. He suspected that he might prefer his own sex if the subject of intimate relations were to ever come up. He has certainly never fantasized about the actresses and singers that the boys at school had seemed to find so alluring.

 

Cressida’s pupils filed in, all identically dressed in black leotards, tights and flats.

 

All except one. He stood at least a head taller than the girls and his dark spiky hair and handsome face made him stand out even more.

 

Mycroft stared. He couldn't help himself. A pointed cough from Cressida made him lower his head and concentrate on the music.

 

Fortunately the piece she had selected for that particular class was uncomplicated but that didn't stop Mycroft hitting a wrong note every time the dark-haired boy looked his way and blushing furiously each time he caught his eye. 

 

The class looked to be terribly punishing. It seemed to Mycroft to be a great deal of hard work but the entire class seemed to enjoy it, even when Cressida chastised them over their poorly-executed jetées.

 

When she dismissed them with thanks, the girls trooped off leaving three of them in the studio. The other boy came over to introduce himself.

 

“Greg Lestrade.”

 

Mycroft couldn't ever recall a more alluring sight with the plain white T-shirt plastered to his firm chest with sweat and the ballet tights that outlined every muscle group in his legs and thighs.

 

“Mycroft Holmes.”

 

The two shook hands.

 

“You're certainly an improvement on Mrs Redfern,” smiled Greg.

 

“Thank you. Mrs Underwood is a friend of my mother's.” explained Mycroft. “I said I’d help out.”

 

“That will certainly help the time pass before my audition.”

 

There was a hint of something in his broad grin and twinkling brown eyes that made Mycroft wish fervently for a cold shower and a lie-down in a darkened room.

 

“Come on, Greg.” insisted Cressida. “That's enough chit-chat. Assume first position.”

 

With a rueful grin Greg took his place at the barre while Mycroft sat back at the piano and began to play. The piece was one he knew blindfold which gave him a chance to surreptitiously watch Greg as he performed.

 

He was incredible. Mycroft realised his opinion might have been slightly biased but Greg seemed to make the most complicated steps look effortless, the muscles in his arms, torso and thighs rippling like water as he was put through his paces by an exacting, critical Cressida.

 

“Still needs work,” were her only comments on Greg's performance. 

 

“Yeah, “ replied Greg. “See you both tomorrow?”

 

“Certainly,” blurted out Mycroft, and Greg smiled.

 

Feeling like a gauche idiot, Mycroft made his way home and slept poorly, his dreams punctuated by visions of brown eyes you could drown in and an eminently kissable mouth.

 

The pattern continued for the next week;in the brief time they had to chat in each class,  Mycroft learned of Greg's burning ambition to be good enough for the National Ballet and his other passion, football. He also found out about Greg's elder sister and they commiserated with each other about their appalling siblings. Greg, one night after a particularly gruelling session, had Mycroft shyly confide his desire to study music at Cambridge assuming his A level results were up to scratch. They bonded over unusual hopes for the future and a mutual love for Mozart and Kentucky Fried Chicken.

 

Then Cressida told him that her usual accompanist would be returning after the weekend. Worse again was what Greg said.

 

“I've got my audition on Monday,” 

 

Mycroft tried not to feel upset. He was pleased for Greg, of course he was but the thought of never seeing him again was too awful to contemplate.

 

Miserably, he watched Greg perform one last time. On this occasion, he was flawless. He seemed to defy gravity as he pirouetted and leapt around the dance floor, graceful as a swallow in flight.

 

“Well done, Greg.” enthused Cressida. “You've worked very hard and I will be astonished if you don't get a place.”

 

“All thanks to you, Mrs Underwood.” he replied.

 

She waved a dismissive hand and Greg left to change. He pulled on jeans and a t-shirt and picked up his gym bag.

 

Back in the studio there was no sign of Mrs Underwood, just Mycroft standing at the barre and frowning.

 

“I don't know how you do it,” he said. “If I tried to dance like you, I'd look like Bambi on ice.”

 

Greg smiled and put down his gym bag. He had hoped that the other boy was interested from the way he blushed every time their eyes met and it seemed that he had been right in his assumption. He also guessed that Mycroft might be too shy to initiate anything, and as their time was rapidly running out, it would be up to him.

 

“Come here and I'll show you,” said Greg.

 

“I'd much rather you danced with me,” said Mycroft softly, a determined look in his blue eyes.

 

Without another word Greg took Mycroft in his arms and waltzed him round the studio, marking ¾ time under his breath and smiling up into Mycroft's eyes,  till they were breathless with laughter.

 

“I've got two left feet,” gasped Mycroft.

 

“Yep. As a dancer, you make an excellent pianist,” agreed Greg.

 

They hadn't moved from each other's arms, and Greg knew it was now or never.

 

He cupped Mycroft's face in one hand, stroking his cheek with his thumb, Mycroft turning his head into the caress as Greg leaned in and kissed him.

 

The last thing Mycroft saw before he closed his eyes and kissed Greg back was their reflection in the studio mirror, Greg in his arms with not a sliver of light between them reflected and refracted eternally.

 

This was the start of forever.

 

The End.

  
  



End file.
